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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736525">it's enough, but i'm still starving</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eating Disorders, M/M, different degrees of not knowing how to Deal With It, self-destructive behaviors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:49:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29736525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On the rare occasion Taeyong had let himself consider the implications what he was doing, he’d always told himself he could stop whenever he wanted.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's enough, but i'm still starving</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>please pay attention to the tags and take care of yourself accordingly!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
It’s not a big deal. It’s <i>never</i> been a big deal. It’s just … a thing Taeyong does, sometimes, when he’s overwhelmed.</p><p>When he’s overwhelmed, or when he’s made the kind of mistake that he can’t ignore. The kind of mistake that sits heavy in his stomach, weighing down his limbs. The kind of mistake that will consume him, he’s sure of it, if he doesn’t get it out. </p><p>He’s so used to getting away with it that when he exits the bathroom on the fifth floor and runs into Johnny, staring at him with an expression on his face that gives too much away, it takes Taeyong a moment to realize he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. </p><p>“Um,” he says, and then falters. He still feels shaky and sick, can smell the vomit on his  own breath. There’s a blissful moment of emptiness before the panic sets in and he just blinks up at Johnny, totally at a loss. </p><p>Johnny stares back down at him, looking just as thrown. Taeyong doesn’t give himself time to consider it any further, tries to dart around him to make his escape, but Johnny stops him with a hand around his forearm.</p><p>“Wait,” he says. Taeyong should ignore him, should try to pull himself free. He doesn’t. </p><p>“What,” he croaks instead, like he doesn’t already know what. </p><p>“Let’s just — ” Johnny starts, eyes darting around them like he’s looking for something. There’s not much to find — this end of the hallway is empty, deserted. It’s why Taeyong chose it. “Let’s just sit,” Johnny finishes, pulling Taeyong towards the wall and dropping himself down to sit against it.</p><p>Taeyong hovers for a moment, considering. He could leave Johnny here, sure. But if he leaves he doesn’t know what Johnny will do next. Can’t trust he won’t tell someone — management, maybe, or even another member. Taeyong can barely stand to think of it, so he reluctantly drops to sit next to Johnny on the floor instead. </p><p>He doesn’t say anything, though, as a silent attempt at rebellion, and for a long moment Johnny doesn’t say anything either. Taeyong stares at the wall across from them and tries to pretend he’s somewhere else. </p><p>“I was like, super jealous of you when you debuted before me,” Johnny confesses, finally. Taeyong turns to stare at him. </p><p>“Why the fuck are you telling me this right now,” he asks blankly, too wired to try and soften his tone. Johnny smiles, not offended in the slightest. </p><p>“So I can apologize,” he says, and Taeyong blinks.</p><p>“Why,” Taeyong says, flat. What the fuck does Johnny have to be sorry for? Taeyong’s the one causing problems right now. Taeyong’s the one who should be apologizing, probably, but he won’t.</p><p>“I never thought about how shitty it must have been for you, to be under all that pressure,” Johnny says. “I’m sorry for that.”</p><p>He sounds casual — Johnny almost always sounds casual. Taeyong feels vaguely offended for no real reason.</p><p>“What the fuck, dude,” he says. He means to sound dismissive, except his voice cracks at the end and it ruins the effect completely.</p><p>Johnny doesn’t even laugh at him, which is a terrible sign. He just shrugs, his shoulders moving up and down against the wall. Taeyong doesn’t want to look at his face anymore, so he stares at Johnny’s feet instead. They’re splayed out in front of him, toes pointed out. His legs are really fucking long. Taeyong looks like a weird baby twig in comparison, spindly and weak. There’s a tremor in his left thigh, his whole leg shaking slightly as the muscle clenches and unclenches.</p><p>He’s always like this, after. He wishes Johnny wasn’t here to see it. </p><p>Johnny clears his throat, oblivious. </p><p>“So, like, I don’t wanna be the uncool friend, here,” he says, after another moment of uncomfortable silence. “But you know I gotta ask if everything’s okay.”</p><p>Taeyong snorts, head lolling over so he can glare at Johnny properly. Johnny laughs again, self-deprecating and charming as ever. Taeyong wrinkles his nose. </p><p>“Is this something that happens a lot?” Johnny presses. <i>No,</i> Taeyong wants to say, but it catches in his throat. Taeyong lies almost every day, probably, or at the very least wilfully misdirects, but he’s not sure he can get away with it this time. </p><p>He shrugs instead, dragging his gaze back to their feet. </p><p>It’s enough of an answer for Johnny, apparently, because he makes a little understanding noise instead of asking again. Taeyong’s humiliation is all-consuming, burning him up from inside. He wants to get up, to run, but his limbs feel so shaky, his brain so foggy. </p><p>All his thoughts are coming so slowly.</p><p>“How long?” Johnny asks, and Taeyong shrugs again, useless. <i>Forever</i>, he wants to say. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t feel like this. </p><p>“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but you should probably talk to someone,” Johnny says. Taeyong snorts out another half-laugh. </p><p>“You’re right, it isn’t,” he says, and then, “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”</p><p>“Not really,” Johnny says frankly. Taeyong elbows him, irritated. It’s the truth, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready for Johnny to call him out on it. </p><p>“I don’t know how,” Taeyong admits, finally. It feels like failure. This whole conversation feels like failure — Taeyong’s supposed to be able to hold it together, and instead he’s letting Johnny see all the ugly pieces. Just sitting here, limp, letting it happen. </p><p>“That’s what professionals are for,” Johnny says, infuriatingly reasonable. </p><p>Taeyong tilts his head up, up, up, until it thunks against the wall behind him.</p><p>“Well, I don’t know how to find one of those,” he says to the ceiling. </p><p>There’s a pause, and then,</p><p>“Yeah, I don’t either,” Johnny admits. Taeyong coughs out a laugh before he can stop himself. </p><p>“Let me know when you find out, then,” he says, and pushes himself to stand up. It makes him a little woozy, knees aching with the movement. He hopes Johnny doesn’t notice. </p><p>“Thanks for not making it weird,” Taeyong says abruptly, kind of looming over Johnny as he says it. Johnny blinks up at him, then smiles. </p><p>“No problem, man,” he says easily. “What’s a little vomit between friends?”</p><p>Taeyong can’t help the laugh that’s startled out of him, an ugly sharp bark. </p><p>“More than a little,” he blurts out without thinking. </p><p>Johnny shrugs, still smiling, like it doesn’t matter either way. Taeyong still feels gross — his breath is rancid, knuckles red and stinging, his face caught somewhere between clammy and dry — but it’s calming, somehow, that Johnny doesn’t seem to think it’s the end of the world. That he’s accepted this as easily as he accepts everything else. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“There are people who do phone appointments,” Johnny says in the van two days later. It takes Taeyong a moment to piece together what he’s even talking about, and when he finally gets it he stares at Johnny in disbelief.</p><p>“Okay,” he says, slowly, not sure how else to respond.</p><p>“You don’t ever have to go to the office,” Johnny continues, as though Taeyong’s actually interested. As though Taeyong isn’t praying for the conversation to end as quickly and painlessly as possible. “No one will take pictures or anything.”</p><p>“It could still get out,” Taeyong points out, even though that isn’t really what he’s worried about. Johnny shrugs.</p><p>“It seems pretty safe,” he says evenly.</p><p>“How do you know about this?” Taeyong asks.</p><p>“I asked around,” Johnny says. </p><p>“Why?” Taeyong can’t keep himself from asking. </p><p>Johnny’s brows furrow in confusion.</p><p>“So I could help you,” he says, like it’s obvious. Something ugly catches in Taeyong’s throat. He breathes through the rush of panic, keeping his mouth clamped shut. He wants to say something horrible, something mean enough to make Johnny back off, but he knows he can’t. </p><p>He and Johnny live in the same dorm. They’re promoting together right now, so they see each other every day. If Taeyong isn’t careful, this is going to escalate into something he can’t control.</p><p>It’s <i>already</i> something he can’t control. </p><p>“I’ll think about it,” he says, finally, making his voice as sincere as he can. This, at least, is something Taeyong knows how to manage: hitting that balance between placating and dismissive, closing the conversation on his own terms.</p><p>Johnny just stares at Taeyong for a moment, eyes serious and dark, before he purses his lips and nods. Taeyong smiles weakly, and hopes this is the end of it. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It isn’t the end of it. </p><p>Dongyoung grabs Taeyong’s arm when he moves to stand up from dinner two weeks later. Taeyong frowns down at him, trying to shake off his grip.</p><p>“What,” he says, finally, when Dongyoung doesn’t let go.</p><p>“Johnny said to keep an eye on you,” Dongyoung says. Taeyong laughs in disbelief. </p><p>“Why the fuck….” he trails off, too scared to finish the sentence. <i>Taeyong</i> knows why the fuck, but Dongyoung had better not. </p><p>If Johnny told Dongyoung anything, Taeyong will never forgive him. Group dynamics be damned. </p><p>“I dunno,” Dongyoung shrugs. “He just said it was important.” </p><p>“And you didn’t ask him <i>why</i>?” Taeyong asks in disbelief. Dongyoung <i>always</i> asks why. He never does anything for anyone unless the reasons have been explained to him in <i>exquisite</i> detail and deemed worthy of his attention, and even then it’s a toss-up.</p><p>Dongyoung shrugs again.</p><p>“He seemed really worried” is his only explanation. Taeyong breathes out an empty laugh, trapped. He wants to pull free of Dongyoung’s hold, but he wasn’t expecting the interference and he can’t seem to think up an excuse on the spot, too distracted by the sickly panic in his gut to form a rational thought. </p><p>“Were you going to throw up?” Dongyoung asks, like that’s a perfectly normal thing to say to someone. </p><p>Taeyong <i>does</i> pull his arm free, then, yanking hard enough that it flies backward and hits the wall behind him. </p><p>“Why would you say that,” he says, before the impact of Dongyoung’s words really hits him and he shakes his head. “Never mind.”</p><p>Why <i>would</i> Dongyoung say that? Does he know? How <i>long</i> has he known? If Johnny wasn’t the one who told him, how did he figure it out? If Dongyoung figured it out, and Johnny figured it out, who else knows? Does <i>everybody</i> know?</p><p>Taeyong’s head feels strange, cloudy and cotton-filled, and it’s not from the beer he drank with dinner. </p><p>“I need….” his voice falters. He clears his throat. “I need to go,” he says, voice as clear as he can make it. </p><p>“Hyung, wait — ” Dongyoung starts, but Taeyong’s already headed towards his own room. He doesn’t let himself turn around. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><i>did you tell dongyoung????</i> he messages Johnny that night, staring at his screen until the words blur into nothing. </p><p><i>no</i>, Johnny sends back almost immediately. Taeyong’s mouth twists in disbelief, annoyance growing when Johnny doesn’t say anything more. </p><p><i>he said you did</i>, he types, hitting the screen a little too aggressively in his frustration. <i>at dinner</i></p><p>There’s another long pause.</p><p><i>i asked him to make sure you were ok</i>, Johnny says, finally. <i>sorry.</i></p><p>Taeyong lets out a frustrated groan, rolling onto his back on the bed. If Johnny didn’t tell him then how did Dongyoung know? Was it obvious? Could he guess?</p><p><i>do other people know</i>, Taeyong types, so humiliated he can barely manage to press send. </p><p><i>not that i know of</i>, Johnny sends back after a moment.</p><p>Taeyong stares at Johnny’s message for a long time, not bothering to send a reply. He wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn the next morning, same as everyone else, and shuffles through their schedules with the rest of the group, and the whole time he doesn’t look at Dongyoung unless he’s being filmed.</p><p>He waits for Dongyoung to come to him, to force a confrontation, but he doesn’t — not even after Taeyong’s waited a day, then two, then five. </p><p>Maybe he’s waiting for promotions to end, Taeyong thinks. Maybe he’s not waiting for anything. Maybe he really doesn’t care. Taeyong doesn’t know which one he wants to be true. </p><p>In the meantime Taeyong tries to train himself out of it, just to be on the safe side, and he’s horrified to find that it’s harder than he expected. On the rare occasion Taeyong had let himself consider the implications what he was doing, he’d always told himself he could stop whenever he wanted. </p><p>Every time he’d snuck to the kitchen in the middle of the night, or to the bathroom after a group outing, he’d thought of it as a form of stress relief. He was indulging himself, and then he was accepting the consequences of his indulgence. Performing the necessary corrections.</p><p>It’s stupid, and it’s embarrassing, and now Taeyong feel like the worst kind of cliché.</p><p>Because he <i>can’t</i> stop, as it turns out, or at least he can’t stop without a struggle, and he’s doubly anxious knowing that it isn’t a secret anymore. He’s never thought of it as something he needed help with and it makes him feel worse, out of control and irresponsible. </p><p>He makes it two weeks before he can’t stand it anymore, cornering Dongyoung in the dorm bathroom. </p><p>“Are you going to tell anyone?” he asks, and Dongyoung blinks, pausing where he’d been trying to get around Taeyeong to twist the doorknob.</p><p>“Tell anyone what?” he says, like he really doesn’t know. Taeyong frowns.</p><p>“About me,” he says, slowly, not sure how they’re not on the same page. It’s all he’s been thinking about it — it’s bizarre to realize Dongyoung hasn’t given it the same weight.</p><p>Dongyoung stares at him for a long time, eyes dark and cautious. </p><p>“It’s your business,” he says warily, like he isn’t sure it’s the right answer. “You know your limits, right?”</p><p>Taeyong pauses, taking that in. Nods, slowly. That should be what he wants to hear, he thinks — it <i>is</i> his business. That’s what he tried to tell Johnny, when Johnny pushed him about it. </p><p>He doesn’t understand why it makes him feel so cold. </p><p>“Thanks,” he says hoarsely, moving so Dongyoung can get at the door. Dongyoung hesitates, then, concern finally starting to make its way onto his face. </p><p>“Are you all good?” he asks slowly. Taeyong nods immediately, the gesture automatic.</p><p>“Of course,” he says, mouth twisting in a quick smile. </p><p>“Alright,” Dongyoung says, nodding again, and he gently moves Taeyong out of the way to slip out the door. </p><p>He leaves it open when he goes. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><i>maybe you were right</i>, Taeyong messages Johnny in the dark later that night, blankets pulled up over his head. </p><p>
  <i>????</i>
</p><p><i>about needing to see someone</i>, Taeyong adds, his entire body trembling with nerves. There’s a long pause while he waits for Johnny to respond, his heartbeat too loud in his ears.</p><p><i>okay</i>, Johnny sends, finally. <i>ill send u the links</i>.</p><p><i>thx</i>, Taeyong forces himself to type, dropping his phone to the side after he hits send. He rolls to his back, pulls the blanket back down so he can see out. Tries to think about nothing, staring at the ceiling until his eyes burn and sting. </p><p>It doesn’t really work — when dawn comes he’s still awake, feeling like he’s waiting for something. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach, like something doesn’t fit quite right. Maybe the feeling’s been here the whole time. Maybe there’s always been something inside him that doesn’t fit. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Maybe someday he’ll be able to figure out what it is.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
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